


Hall Hibiki

by exvalk (pastel)



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - War, Gen, M/M, Multi, Prophetic Visions, Shinkai Cult, Slow Burn, Trans Oogami Kouga, a main story retelling but what if the first years + !! characters were there, court intrigue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25683058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastel/pseuds/exvalk
Summary: Marquis Hibiki Wataru has a bad habit of collecting strays, but war with the Tenshouin Empire is knocking on the grand hall's doorstep. For the first time in years, he and his wards will have to part ways.-A Souma, Tomoya, Natsume, and Koga-centric fantasy au
Relationships: Kagehira Mika/Sakasaki Natsume, Kanzaki Souma/Otogari Adonis, Mashiro Tomoya/Takamine Midori, Mashiro Tomoya/Tenma Mitsuru, Oogami Kouga/Yuuki Makoto
Comments: 12
Kudos: 15





	1. A Letter From A Friend

**Author's Note:**

> sooo i've had this in my drafts for a few months, and i'm not sure when'll update again but this is a universe i'm very fond of, complicated as it's made itself. this exists almost entirely bc my four faves are souma, tomoya, koga, and natsume... and i came to the shocking realization that each of them has a senpai-kouhai relationship w a different oddball (kanata, wataru, rei, and natsume + shu are the only 2 oddballs that aren't in the 'big 3' oddballs so to speak and also the card where natsume is sleeping on shu's shoulder...)
> 
> anyway, i realized this, and i thought it would be really fun and interesting to have a fic centered around the four of them, since for the most part they don't get That much attention from the enstars fandom, souma + tomoya especially!! and also i wanted to write boys in dresses for plot reasons.
> 
> there will be a lot of mixing of terminology and linguistic influences, but these choices were made more based on character personalities + references than for worldbuilding reasons. 
> 
> ALSO! ages are altered. the 3rd year oddballs are ageless, magical entities (rei is oldest, shu is youngest).  
> souma is 19, natsume is 17, koga is 16, tomoya (and the ryuseitai boys) are 15. other characters will be introduced in the story. there will be no adult/minor relationships or nsfw content about characters who are minors in-verse.

_Dear Takamine-kun,_

_I wish I could have written sooner. Unfortunately, the journey to Nii-chan’s—the man Hibiki-senpai has sent me to stay with until he feels it is safe enough to return, I do not know his real name, but it suits him, honestly—estate took longer than I expected. It is quite remote, but exceedingly beautiful. Never before have I seen the world so completely and utterly green. It is warmer than Port Deusale, as well. You would love it. I no longer have access to the Marquis’ doves, and for some strange reasons the only animals I have seen in my time here are white rabbits. I have charmed one of them, and given them the scent from your jacket, so I can only hope this letter will reach you._

_I have been well here, though lonely. After living in the city—if one could call Port Deusale a city—the countryside is quiet. Almost too quiet. However, there are two other boys here a year older than me, Mitsuru and Hajime, and they are good company, Hajime especially. You would like him. He is more thoughtful than either of us, and makes the richest tea I have ever tasted. Mitsuru is noisier, athletic, and—if I make speak to you completely candidly, a bit of a simpleton, in my opinion, but kind nonetheless. He bakes fresh bread for us every day, though he eats far more than his share every time._

_It is idyllic here—do you remember when we hid behind the stores of herbs and pickled foods in the Hall, and read_ A Midsummer Night’s Dream _by candlelight? If you were not sleeping—I’m only teasing, Midori. It feels as though I am caught in that dream, in this beautiful garden estate, and not at all like war is knocking on our doorstep. It makes me feel guilty, really. I wish I could join the rest of you back in Port Deusale, if only as moral support, but the Marquis says that I must “wait in the wings a while longer; at times even the most important of characters do not appear until after intermission”. I feel like he is only trying to placate me, and will keep me here until the war is well and over—you know how he smothers me._

 _If this message does reach you, please send a reply with the rabbit that delivered it. It should know how to find its way home, but if not, one of my hair-ribbons is in the envelope, and it should understand after smelling it. I have cut my hair shorter since I am not around the Marquis anymore, so I have no need for such fanciful accessories._ _If the rabbit runs away, you can ask Hibiki-sensei for help contacting me, though I really would prefer if he didn’t know about this._ _I know you will hate to hear it, but I do miss you. No one else is so good at sitting still and listening to my lines as you are, even Hajime. Please tell me how life is continuing on in Port Deusale without me._

_I considered ending this message the way I would have if we were together, in person, but—you know who I am, after all, and the Marquis insists that there are reasons my life is the way it is. Please send my regards to the rest of your family, and to the others under Morisawa-san’s tutelage as well._

_Yours,_

_Tomoko_

_P.S._

_Oh, also in the envelope is a drawing of Mitsuru’s I found on the patio table the other day. I think it’s supposed to be a bunny? Anyway, I thought you would appreciate it more than I ever could._

“Oi, Midori-kun! Wait, is that a rabbit? Shinobu-kun, get over here, Midori-kun has-” Tetora’s voice pulls Midori out of reading Tomoya’s letter. 

“Do you _have_ to yell, Nagumo?” Midori hisses, throwing Tetora a look before taking in the last paragraph, then reading the whole thing over again. He does know what Tomoya means—after all, it is only to the other wards of Marquis Hibiki and Midori himself that Tomoya is properly called Mashiro _Tomoya_. To the rest of the world, Tomoya is known as ‘Mashiro Tomoko’, a girl’s name, supposedly belonging to the eldest daughter of the Mashiro family. 

The Mashiro family’s eldest daughter is Tomoya’s younger sister, and her name is Yuki.

Tomoko is merely an invention, a character for Tomoya to play according to the cryptic words of some prophecy—Midori doesn’t know the details, but Tomoya and the Marquis both make it seem terribly important, especially given how much Tomoya hates it.

“What is it then?” Tetora asks, sidling closer in a way that’s obviously meant to be inconspicuous and is, in fact, anything but. “A letter? From who?”

“It’s nothing,” Midori replies, hurriedly folding Tomoya’s letter back up and sliding it into the thick envelope, which bulges where Tomoya’s ribbon is bunched up at the bottom. 

Tetora is shoulder to shoulder with him now, leaning over, and can see the white rabbit that’s made itself quite comfortable in Midori’s lap. He can also see the envelope, try as Midori might to keep it close to his chest and out of sight. “I dunno, looks a lot like a letter and a rabbit to me. Who’s it from? Wait - did you just get a letter from a rabbit? That’s, like… Shinkai-senpai-esque, Midori-kun.”

Midori can’t help the look of disbelief that he sends Tetora. “No, I did not get a letter from a _rabbit_ , Tetora-kun. I don’t think even Shinkai-senpai could do that.”

Tetora shrugs. “Probably could with a fish, y’know? And who’s it from, then?”

“Uh,” Midori flounders. He’s never been very good at lying—it was always Tomoya’s quick thinking that would get them out of trouble, though they rarely did anything that would require it, and if not Tomoya it would be Shinobu, who’s as surprisingly witty as he is strange. 

“An old friend,” he chokes out, eventually. “I just, um, found the rabbit. Here. By the forest. By chance.”

This seems to be good enough for Tetora. “It’s hard to stay in touch with people nowadays,” he says, nodding as if to agree with himself, “I respect that, Midori-kun.”

However, when they return to Morisawa and Shinkai-senpai’s house—an impossible thing, at once sprawling and compact, a shack and a mansion—where they stay now that their apprenticeship has grown more intense, the gig is up.

Shinkai-senpai’s mysterious and often irritating friend, part-time pirate and full-time flirt, known only to the three apprentices through Shinkai-senpai’s bubbly ‘ _Kaoruu~_ ’, is sitting in the kitchen.

Tetora and Shinobu wave a hand in greeting, but Midori only bows his head briefly.

“Hello, boys,” Kaoru replies, just as reserved.

But when they’re halfway across the kitchen—so close to Midori’s bed, so close to _comfort_ , and yet so far—Kaoru moves.

“Hey,” he says, not particularly politely, “do any of you smell that, or is it just me?”

The three of them stop, all turning to Kaoru. Midori doesn’t smell anything, so Shinobu probably doesn’t either—and Tetora’s nose is ruined from years of breathing in smoke, he’s out of the question. 

“Um,” Shinobu says, looking at Midori then Tetora, “no?”

Kaoru stands from their little tea table, swaggering towards the three of them, sniffing the air like—a dog, maybe? One of those bats with the big, upturned noses? A fox?

He stops just in front of them, still sniffing, brows furrowed. “It smells like,” he takes another big inhale, “Tomoko-chan, from Hibiki’s old place.”

Instantly, Midori tenses up, and he has to fight the urge to brush his hand against the pocket of his coat where Tomoya’s letter is hiding.

Surprisingly—or maybe unsurprisingly—Tetora is the one who reacts first. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, sir! Mashiro-chan has not been around for months now! The Marquis did not want his wards to be in potential danger with the threats of Tenshouin’s army nearing, so they have all been sent off to safehouses, Mashiro-chan included!”

Kaoru frowns, then shrugs, once again the image of perfect nonchalance as he saunters back to his seat at the table. “Well, then, who knows? Maybe the ol’ sniffer is finally giving out on me.”

The three of them don’t stay any longer than that, rushing into their shared apprentice quarters as soon as they have the chance.

The door swings shut, and Midori can breathe easy again, except—

Tetora has his finger against Midori’s chest, and a triumphant look on his face.

“The letter,” he says, gleefully, “it was from Mashiro-chan, wasn’t it.”

“What letter?” Shinobu asks, looking from Midori to Tetora and back again.

Midori covers his face with both hands. 

“The letter,” Tetora says, grin so wide Midori can hear it in his voice, “from an ‘old friend’.”


	2. A Family Dinner

As the Emperor Tenshouin convinces Erlking Sakuma to sail across the seas to lands yet unknown, Marquis Hibiki serves dinner to his four wards.

It’s a little coincidence, he thinks, that each comes from one the four provinces protected and cared for by him and his brethren. A perfect one-to-one ratio, _Amazing!_

The eldest, Souma, was delivered to him only a few years ago by Kanata—supposedly the disgraced and outcast son of one of the many families in the Shinkai cult. Souma has no magical potential and spends most of his time alone in the sprawling gardens of Hall Hibiki, but otherwise is the one who keeps the house running in top shape.

Natsume is very much the opposite. The son of Shu’s favorite oracle, he is even closer to the Source than Wataru himself—closer, perhaps, than any other living person—and had been placed in Wataru’s care due to a prophecy of his mother’s, many years ago. He is fickle and decisive all at once, and since coming into his powers much prefers to hide away in the darkest, most secret corners of the estate than talk to anyone else.

It is Tomoya, the youngest, that Wataru loves most and who provides the happy medium between the two older boys. Magically gifted but not a prodigy, and hard-working but not a perfectionist, Tomoya is the only one of Wataru’s children that will spend time with him anymore. He is eternally grateful that the Mashiro family—good, normal people who live within the bounds of Hibiki’s own lands—contacted him the moment Tomoya began to show the slightest sign of the extraordinary.

And then there is Koga. Wataru isn’t quite sure where Rei got him, or what strange stories Rei told him, but Koga is the most difficult of Wataru’s wards—even more so than Souma, who takes everything literally, or Natsume, who is anything but. Koga craves validation, but only from the very _Sakuma-san_ that abandoned him here in Port Deusale. Busy with his other three children and gently guiding an entire province besides, Wataru does feel that he’s ignored Koga more than he should have.

“I simply don’t understand why we still need to have these ‘family’ dinners, Wataru-niisan, we aren’t even a _family,_ ” Natsume complains without much heat, pushing his vegetables around on his plate, “And besides, Koga’s already taken his food out to eat with the _dogs_. He’s going to make them eat all his greens, and then they’re going to throw up on my _spells._ ”

Souma jolts even more upright in his seat. “Do you really think that Koga-dono is giving his vegetables to the dogs? That is simply unacceptable—for both his health and the animals’!”

Tomoya is only chewing, quiet as the color of the pale blue bow in his long brown hair.

Wataru smiles. Ah, his wards. He does love them, though if his understanding of Natsume’s very first prophecy—many years old now—is correct, he will have to part with them very soon.


	3. A Dark and Stormy Night

It is a dark and stormy night in the Kell Archipelago.

But it is dark and stormy most nights, so Souma Kanzaki, firstborn of the venerable House Kanzaki, is in his bedroom, completely unconcerned. The ancient wooden walls rattle with the force of the wind, the rain against his window like rounds of artillery fire.

He is not alone. Far from it—beside him in his bed lays his Shadow, his double, Mayoi Ayase.

Mayoi, leaning precariously on one elbow, is holding up a candle, far enough from Souma’s silk sheets to avoid dripping wax or starting a fire, but close enough for Souma to read by its light. Mayoi, at best Souma’s legal twin and at worst a child born for the very purpose of _replacing_ Souma’s existence, is illiterate.

Souma, freshly fifteen and more curious about the world than ever, is not.

He devours the pages of the book spread open over his hard pillow, flipping through them faster than Mayoi has ever seen him read before. This particular book is not from the Kell libraries—it would look entirely foreign to Mayoi if he had not watched Souma secret it from the bags of the current Mother himself.

It is from somewhere beyond the islands, or perhaps written by Mother himself. Mayoi does not know—his world is these four walls, and then the few rooms beyond. On a good day, perhaps the wide-open sky through a shuttered window, and in his earliest memories the soft sand of the beaches.

He is a Shadow, after all, so there’s no point in knowing. It’s only if—and only _if_ , this is really not a thought he should even be thinking—Souma dies or kills someone or runs away from his destiny as the next Mother will Mayoi need to know anything, and knowing Souma… well, Mayoi’s existence is more of an unfortunate happenstance than any real failsafe _._

Souma flips the page.

This book really is _strange,_ Mayoi thinks, based on the illustrations scattered throughout its pages. Men wearing metal, women in pants, not a single drawing of the Father—he has to wonder where Mother got it.

But then Mother has always been a little strange, a little too much, for both his role on the islands of Kell, and Mayoi’s personal tastes. Born Madara Mikejima—another thought Mayoi shouldn’t be thinking, because after ascension every Mother is only called _Mother_ —he has always been tall, broad, loud. He disappeared immediately after ascending to his position, which is not uncommon as Mayoi’s always heard that Mothers need time to recuperate after it’s all said and done, whatever _it_ entails. 

However, when he returned, Mother claimed the Father had called on him to scour the seas far beyond Kell for… something. This is one of those things Mayoi doesn’t know and really shouldn’t care to. 

Souma turns the page again, his lips pressed tight and thin in concentration.

Souma is strange, too, but in a very different way. If the Mother now is flouting all traditions, Souma will rewrite them a thousand times by hand until he can think of nothing else. He will make a proper Mother, Mayoi thinks. It’s a good thing they weren’t born the other way around. If they had, he thinks he would die, just so Souma could take his place.

The walls shudder more violently than ever. The ocean waves swell to a roar. 

The storms don’t usually get this bad.

 _Crash_ bang!

Thunder, and the after-sensation of a lightning strike, every hair on Mayoi’s body standing on end. 

Souma is unbothered. He continues to read, determined to learn as much as he can about Motherhood, utterly convinced the personal texts of the current Mother will help him.

It does make sense, Mayoi thinks. Probably would make more sense if he could read what they said, but it makes no difference to him. 

“Move a little to the right, Ayase-dono,” Souma says at last, turning the page once more. 

Mayoi does as he’s told, and _then-_

In perfect time with the thunder’s deafening growl—so perfect the two boys do not realize until it is much too late, until they have been caught red-handed, criminals right at the scene of the crime—Souma’s bedroom door is thrown open.

In the new rectangle of light, the man of the house. Souma’s father. Kanzaki.

“My _son,_ ” he says, staring at the stolen book in Souma’s hands. His voice, his face, his very being—they are twisted into a form Mayoi has never seen before. Is he angry, miserable, pitying, betrayed? _In pain_ or about to inflict it?

This is only one of many things Mayoi does not know.


	4. A Goodbye and A Promise

“I don’t want to _go_ ,” Natsume says, petulantly.

He’s perched on Wataru’s oversized mattress, legs spread wide under his skirt. His arms are crossed, his brows furrowed.

Wataru smiles, long hair ruffled from sleep. It’s six in the morning, and he’s just woken up. Natsume, on the other hand, has been up all night, thinking about this, planning how he wanted this conversation to go.

“It was you who told me you had to leave, darling,” Wataru replies, stretching his arms above his head theatrically, “Don’t you remember?”

Natsume’s gaze hardens. “I was _six_. And besides, I haven’t had a single prophecy related to it ever _since_.”

There were no exact words to the prophecy, coming out of a child’s mouth as it had, reinterpreted by Natsume’s mother as a sequence of images. Still, he knows the general story by heart -- it’s about himself, after all, and the three other boys under Wataru’s care.

They, too, know the story, though they do not know it is their futures it speaks of.

Tomoya, the plain-faced spy. Souma, the sailor under blood moonlight. Natsume himself, the hidden magician.

It is Koga’s future that Natsume is the most jealous of. While Tomoya’s story is of truth and lies, Souma’s of tradition and discovery, and his own about power, raw and uncontrollable, Koga has been granted a fate that seems to dispel the notion of fate itself, a tale of rewriting every rule to suit his own visions. Natsume is a scientist, not a lover, but it is stories like Koga’s that make him wish it was the other way around.

“I do not want to go, Wataru-niisan,” Natsume says again, though he knows he will, “You cannot make _me_.”

They both know he’s leaving in five days. Natsume fits his hands in the rich red satin of his skirt, and then lets go, leaving deep wrinkles behind.

“Don’t you want the chance to see Shu again, darling?” Wataru counters, a paternal smile on his lips.

Wataru has his own fate in Natsume’s prophecy, though it is not as clear. In fact, there are many players that Natsume does not know, or at least cannot identify yet, but his mother’s drawing of Wataru -- his arms outstretched, his eyes closed, his hair billowing out behind him as if in freefall, the very image of surrender -- it’s stuck with him since the moment Natsume began his life here at the Hall Hibiki. He does not want to leave his host, or at least does not want to abandon him before--

“Have you started packing yet, darling?” Wataru asks, cutting through Natsume’s thoughts. His large, ageless hands reach over and card through the smoke-whitened ends of Natsume’s hair, twisting them into small, idle braids.

“I haven’t,” Natsume answers, “I don’t want _to_.”

Wataru breathes out a laugh, moving his hand to rest on Natsume’s shoulder, a comforting pressure.

Natsume loves his parents, their exchanged letters and once-yearly visits to the Hall, but Wataru is his family in ways they could never be.

“You can pack lightly,” Wataru tells him, “I’m sure Shu has much prepared for you. He’s very excited to see you again, darling. Your life will be beautiful there.”

Natsume opens his mouth to protest, to claim that he will never love the Itsuki lands the way he does Port Deusale’s quiet, mossy charm, but Wataru continues, “I’ll keep your room clean while you’re gone.”


	5. A Group of Strangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! i'm gonna preface this by saying that im not trans, but kogas character came to me in the fic as trans and i was like 'ok if u say so!' i'm not planning to focus on his identity as a plot point it's more just... there in the background, but it's slightly more relevant before he becomes one of hibiki's wards (as in this chapter). if you have any suggestions or places of improvement please let me know! and if anyone's interested a beta/sensitivity reader would be much appreciated!

The forest is foggy. Muddy. Humid.

It’s just damp in general, really, but Koga doesn’t mind it. Or, perhaps, he’s simply gotten used to it. He’s been in this particular set of woods for what must be several weeks now — since he left home, he’s given up on trying to count the days, but it has been quite a while.

Hm. Perhaps he should move soon.

But that’s a problem for later, once he’s fed and watered himself for the day. The sun is just peeking over the treeline, finally warming up the air enough for him to move comfortably. He stretches, arms going over his head with a satisfying _crack_ and pull in his muscles, and then makes a passing effort to pick the grime of the night out from under his over-long nails. 

Oh, if only his mother could see him now. She would sob at the sight of his fingernails -- dirty and bitten and ungroomed as they are -- much less the rest of him. 

He picks some clods of mud off his heels, but it’s more of a habit than anything, because once he’s done he’ll be just as grimy as he’d been when he started.

It’s a long trek to the patch of berries he prefers to frequent, but it’s worth it. This forest has the sweetest fruit he’s ever tasted, and grows almost enough for him to feel full -- one of the few things he misses from his old life.

He stretches one last time, this time reaching down to the forest floor, before setting off on his journey. 

Over the months he’s been out here, in the wild, he’s learned how to walk properly; what patches of ground are safe for his bare feet, and which will be too wet or too painful or too fragile to hold his weight. It’s an art, and he has become a master. 

The stream midway through the trek is difficult, but now that the sun is as high as it will be today, the water isn’t as bitterly cold as it could be, and he can pass through without risking lost feeling in one or both of his feet. Besides, the little dip in the running water cleans his skin, which while utterly useless, feels nice.

Another thing he misses, but still not enough to convince him to ever return.

Duck under this particularly low hanging branch, push through the final bushes, and --

There is someone in his berry grove. Multiple someones.

Instantly, Koga freezes up, remaining halfway in the protection of the bushes, just enough to see the intruders without revealing himself.

There are three of them. Three adults. Three adult men. 

A sharp, sour bolt of fear shocks its way through Koga’s system, traveling from the back of his throat to his toenails.

It’s partially that he hasn’t seen another human so close in -- ever since he left -- much less _three_ , but it’s also that they are. Three adult men.

Unwarranted and unwanted, the cooing voice of his mother and every adult who has been in his life echoes in his mind: be careful of men, because --

Koga refuses to let the memory finish. Instead, he decides to go against everything he might have done first, and steps out from the bushes.

“Who the fuck are you and why are you in my forest?” He growls, crossing his arms over his chest, standing as tall as he can.

The men turn around at the same time, surprised.

God, they’re tall. Koga digs his heels into the ground.

Their lips are berry-stained dark, and in the forest’s dim, half-golden light, it almost looks like it’s blood in the corner of their mouths.

Koga refuses to back down.

“This is your forest?” The man in the middle says, not as unconvinced as Koga expected, but there’s a smirk, some kind of half-patronizing humor in his voice.

“The fuck else would it belong to!” Koga replies, trying to sound as intimidating as possible. He doubts he is, truly -- he’s probably half their age and is looking so goddamn far _up_ he’s getting sunlight in his eyes -- but whatever he can muster won’t hurt.


	6. A Basket of Tomatoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a little longer than the previous ones, i think, but i might keep writing at this length!!

The Rabbit’s Inn is like paradise on Earth. Somehow, the grounds seems to be trapped in eternal springtime, and its owner — Nito Nazuna, a short man with red eyes and blond hair — too appears unaging, perpetually at the cusp of adolescence. It’s not truly an inn, either, at least not as far as Tomoya can tell.

Hajime claims he’s been here almost his entire life — basically forever.

“Tomo-chin, could you harvest the tomatoes today? I’d like to make a soup for dinner tonight, it’s going to get chilly,” Nazuna asks as he sips at his steaming cup of tea, somehow not too hot to drink from. By chilly, he means that it will be just _slightly_ colder than the Inn’s usual goldilocks-warm — the perfect weather for a light sweater.

“Yes, of course,” Tomoya responds. These breakfasts they share, sat at a small circular table tucked in a heavily-windowed corner of the Inn’s kitchen, remind Tomoya of family dinners back in Port Deusale only with much less pomp and circumstance. Where Wataru weeps at dramatic flourishes and grand gestures, Nazuna prefers comforts of the well-lived, creature-y sort. The table itself is hand-hewn, the tablecloth patchworked out of old clothing. All the food they eat is from their own garden and Nazuna’s small herd of farm animals, all cooked and served by themselves — some better than others.

Luckily, today was Hajime’s turn to make breakfast. He sits at Tomoya’s right, while Mitsuru is at his left. Nazuna is directly across from him, delicately nibbling on one of Hajime’s perfectly-formed croissants.

“What should I do, Nii-chan?” Mitsuru asks, crumbs and the odd glob of elderberry jam stuck to his cheeks. “I wanna go for a good dash-dash, so please don’t give me too much to do!”

If Nazuna’s annoyed by this request, he doesn’t show it. “Well, since Hajime-chin is handling the house today… you can go for your run, and then how about you help Tomo-chin process the tomatoes? I’d like half of them canned to make sauce later, and you can put the rest in the kitchen. I’m not sure Tomo-chin has been to the cannery yet,” he flicks a glance at Tomoya for confirmation, and when he’s met with a blank stare, continues on. “So you can show him ‘round.”

“Okay!” Mitsuru responds cheerily, digging into the rest of his breakfast with vigor.

Tomoya feels much less excited at the prospect. God, canning things. It almost sounds dangerous, and to learn it from someone like Mitsuru? Mitsuru, who cannot sit in a chair properly and runs off at the slightest distraction?

Tomoya fears for his fingers.

It’s a small blessing, he decides, swallowing down a bite of his own buttery pastry, that Nazuna had allowed him to cut his hair short as soon as Wataru’s back was turned, or he’d have even more to worry about.

Mitsuru _dash-dashing_ off for his daily run around the perimeter of the Inn’s grounds gives Tomoya more than enough time to make his way out to the vegetable patch, gardening gloves on, and start harvesting the tomatoes. They feel nice in his hands, round and smooth with just the right amount of heft — he gets caught up in the motion, his careful selection of only the ripest fruit.

“You can grab some of the smaller ones, too, y’know?” Mitsuru’s voice cuts through his tranquil like a hunter’s arrow. He whips around to find Mitsuru standing right behind him, just on this side of sweaty. Tomoya opens his mouth to make an accusation, or maybe an admonishment, but Mitsuru just moves past him to the plants, squatting down with his own basket between his legs.

“See, these ones that are still a little green? The flavor’s a little different, so Nii-chan usually likes it if we grab a few of these too.”

Tomoya turns back to the tomatoes, taking a few steps away from Mitsuru before settling down himself. “I _know_ that they taste different, but shouldn’t we let them grow properly ripe? That’s the way they’re supposed to be.”

Mitsuru doesn’t take the bait. He blinks obliviously at Tomoya — who is definitely _only_ looking at him out of the corner of his eye, he’s totally focused on the tomatoes — before shrugging. “I mean you don’t have to, but I kind of like how they taste, too, so I’ll grab a few. We’ll have a big harvest this year, anyway.”

Tomoya hums back, but his brow is furrowed where Mitsuru can’t see him. He dislikes this. He dislikes it very much. Not quite _hate_ , but he’s feeling something for sure. Almost every conversation he’s had with Mitsuru has only told him that the other boy, if not being a little dumb, is outright _simple_ — the very opposite of the kinds of people Tomoya would like to be interacting with, quick-witted spies and double-faced magicians, the kinds of people who would be involved in Natsume-kun’s prophecies and distant, royal court intrigue. The good stuff.

But, instead, he’s with Mitsuru, who, for all his general obliviousness, is actually better than Tomoya at all of the farm and garden tasks Nii-chan usually assigns them. It’s kind of awful.

“I think we’ve gotten all the tomatoes that we can for now,” Tomoya says, partially because it’s true and partially because now he really wants to get this over with. Mitsuru replies with a jovial ‘Ok!’ and gets up, gesturing for Tomoya to follow him to a small shed at the end of the garden.

As they walk, his shoulder knocks into Tomoya’s. “Hey, Tomo-chan,” he starts, looking down at the grass, “How do you feel about… the whole, like, after-this thing?”

And then he looks up at Tomoya, big brown eyes pulled wide, warm and wet and so devastatingly _open_ Tomoya almost trips on his basket of tomatoes.

“W-what do you mean?” He knows exactly what Mitsuru means — they do have a role in Natsume-kun’s prophecy, it’s just… a bit of a difficult one. Tomoya would like to avoid thinking about it for as long as possible.

Mitsuru’s eyes shutter instantly, going cold with disappointment. His gaze returns to the ground, and he’s pouting, just a little bit. Wrong thing to say, clearly.

“The cannery’s in here,” Mitsuru replies instead, yanking open the heavy shed door in one strong motion, “I’ll show it to you.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading, please leave a kudo and/or comment if you enjoyed it!  
> 


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